Little Fish
by Rainsaber
Summary: How Raoul earned the endearing nickname D'Artagnan used in "Bubbles," at only a month old. From the 'Bitter to Sweet' universe. Slash.


**Little Fish**

**Summary:** As the title suggests, how Raoul earned the endearing nickname D'Artagnan used in "Bubbles," at only a month old. From the 'Bitter to Sweet' universe. Slash.

**A/N:** Yet another baby fic. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays, everyone!

**Warnings:** Extreme cuteness ahead. Slash involved toward the end, but nothing explicit.

**Disclaimer:** The Three Musketeers and its characters rightfully belong to Alexandre Dumas. I'm just a serial borrower.

* * *

D'Artagnan held Raoul in the crook of his arm as Athos finished unclothing the tiny boy. Kathrina took the small clothes in hand and went to fetch fresh ones with a soft smile. Athos stood beside them with a wet washcloth in his hand and some soap in a small dish on the floor. Both men knelt on the wooden floor of the washroom and prepared to give the infant his first real bath, rather the first one for father and son. Raoul was barely a month old. Before this he'd been bathed by hand with a basin of water to the side. Athos had been too afraid to even consider sitting him in a small basin with even an inch of water. Katharina often assured him that the boy would be safe, but Athos still didn't fully trust the Prussian girl just yet. So the task of playing mediator fell to D'Artagnan to help Athos see sense.

"Ready," D'Artagnan asked him.

Athos sighed.

"Athos, you've been like this all week. It-"

"Needs to be done, yes. So…go on."

D'Artagnan frowned, but started to lower the child into the little wooden bucket.

As soon as the infant's legs hit the water his legs twitched and the most peculiar look crossed his little face. It was a strange cross between confusion and grumpiness. He made a little grunt and D'Artagnan watched for any sign of discomfort, but the wrinkles in his face relaxed and he just stared blankly, blinking and looking at the water below him and the hands holding him up.

"I don't think he likes it," D'Artagnan commented with a little amusement.

The boy started moving his legs, slowly bending and unbending his knees under the water, and reaching out with his feet like he was trying to kick them.

"What are you trying to do, little fish," D'Artagnan asked the boy quietly. "Are you trying to swim?"

The little boy opened his tired eyes and looked up at him with a blank stare. Then he closed them, yawned, and went back moving his legs and toes about.

"An apt sobriquet," Athos whispered next to D'Artagnan's ear with a smile. "The boy learns quick for only a month old."

D'Artagnan couldn't help but smile and chuckle to himself at how cute Raoul looked. The baby was just so small. And as Athos bathed the boy with a soft washcloth D'Artagnan could see and feel the tension melt off the new father. All too soon, the little boy was clean and the experience over. The boy gave a soft noise of protest a little at being taken out of the warm water, but D'Artagnan quickly transferred the babe into Athos' waiting arms with the towel.

Raoul squirmed around with limbs going everywhere until Athos wrapped him up in the soft towel. The child still voiced discomfort, to which the poor father merely stared and paused, not knowing what to do. He turned to D'Artagnan with a look of mild panic, but D'Artagnan merely busied himself with cleaning up.

"Why is he crying?"

"He's your son, Athos."

"W—Obviously, but—"

D'Artagnan smirked as he walked out the door. "Some things you must figure out on your own."

"_That's very helpful_," Athos called after him.

D'Artagnan laughed, but stayed close by in the room across the hall if Athos were to call for help. He was slightly surprised that Athos didn't, and that Raoul quieted down. Later that night, after the boy was put to bed, Athos lay on their bed staring at the ceiling while D'Artagnan changed into his nightclothes.

"It wasn't too horrible was it?"

Athos grunted in response, but didn't reply otherwise.

D'Artagnan sighed and tossed his nightshirt aside. He approached the bed and sat next to Athos on his side of the bed. "What's wrong?"

Athos took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "One of my very first memories is of my little sister drowning in the ravine behind the stables."

D'Artagnan felt his mouth drop open. "You…you had a sister?"

"I thought she was playing a game…but then she stopped moving. And I stood there, until my mother started screaming…" Athos stopped speaking and stared off to the other side of the room, eyes glassy and throat too tight to force any more words out.

D'Artagnan touched the side of Athos' face and gently turned him back to face him. "Why didn't you tell me," he asked softly.

"I know how to swim. My father taught me against my mother's wishes. It is _not_ a weakness of mine."

"I never said that," D'Artagnan whispered, carding his hands through Athos' hair. But his hand stilled moments later as the memory of a mission when they were younger came to him. "Is that why you fought with me in Venice? When I wanted to save those men who were drowning in the lower cells of the prison?"

"They were convicts," Athos muttered with that familiar fire in his eyes, even years later.

"They were men who had not yet faced justice for their crimes—"

"You think the collapse of that prison wasn't an act of God?"

"I think men can make faulty supports in a city that was stupidly built on water."

Athos sighed and turned his face away from D'Artagnan's hand.

D'Artagnan drew back and rose to leave, but Athos grabbed his arm. "I didn't want to lose you."

"Even then?"

"Yes."

D'Artagnan sat back down and leaned down to kiss Athos. Athos slipped a hand around the back of D'Artagnan's neck and cradled his head as he deepened the kiss. It was gentle, but persistent. And if Athos' grip on his hair was any indication, neither of them would have trouble sleeping tonight.

"Did it bother you," D'Artagnan asked, leaning their foreheads together. "When I called him Little Fish?"

"No. If there is any one person I trust the life of my son with, it would be you."

"I will protect him with my own. Always."

Athos kissed him again, grabbed him around the waist and flipped them on the bed. D'Artagnan looked up at him and could see that Athos was thinking, but didn't know what to say. D'Artagnan put a hand on the side of Athos' face and rubbed his thumb against his cheek.

"He hasn't even started to crawl yet," the young man said. "I think we have plenty of time to make sure he's well equipped for the dangers of the world."

Athos opened his mouth to speak, but D'Artagnan spoke the words for him.

"I know, you love me."

Athos smiled fondly and kissed him. "Cheeky brat."


End file.
